


Hello Dean

by Sluie92



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sluie92/pseuds/Sluie92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is hurt badly on a case and Cas steps up to save him. Complications arise when an old foe reappears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he almost choked on his beer as he heard the familiar voice. He looked around, trying to take in everything at once, but the bunker was quiet and still. He stood up, squinting into the dim light, but there was nothing.

“Dammit, Cas,” he muttered, shaking his head as he sat down once more. He should have known. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the voice, the first time his heart had leapt in hope only to crash-land moments later. He was beginning to sympathise with Sam a little now; the whole Lucifer thing didn’t seem as strange to him as it once had.

He shook his head again as if to rid it of all memory and went back to reading the case file.

—

“Dean? Where are you? Come back to me.”

Dean looked up sharply, cracking his head on the hood of the car. He cursed, rubbing it, though the pain was a mere footnote compared to everything else he felt. He almost stopped himself from looking around this time, but hope won out and he scoured the garage for any sign of a trenchcoat. There was none, of course.

“God DAMN it,” Dean said, slamming the hood of the car down. He stood for a few moments, silent and brooding, before throwing his wrench to the floor and storming off towards the kitchen.

—

“I need you, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flicked open, though only darkness met them. For a moment he considered turning on the light, but eventually he decided against it and rolled over, though he had lost all hope of getting back to sleep.

—

“Please, Dean. I can’t- I don’t want…”

“It’s okay, Cas. You know Dean, he’ll make it through.”

“But Sam, you saw what they did to him. Not even I can reverse this. He might never-“

“He will.”

“How can you be so certain? His injuries were so extensive, his brain so damaged, it’s incredible that he is even alive at all.”

“He’s done it before. We all have. The three of us, look at what we’ve been through. Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, demons, monsters, angels… Dean won’t let this beat him. Okay?”

“Thank you, Sam. Is it- Is this an appropriate time to hug?”

—

Dean had never heard Sam’s voice before. These hallucinations, they had always been Cas. A sentence or two at the most, never a full conversation. Something was different.

Why would he hear Sam’s voice anyway, he wondered? Sam was here in the bunker, with him. Except, try as he might, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had clapped eyes on his little brother. A sudden panic enveloped him.

“Sam?” he called out, voice echoing. “Sammy?”

He padded down the hall in his socks, picking up speed as he went. He skidded around a corner and sprinted down another corridor. Corridor after corridor, each one longer than the last, a maze of closed doors and empty halls and each one longer than the last, spiralling round and round in an endless circle and Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Sammy!” Dean bellowed. His own voice came back to him in a million desperate echoes. “Cas!”

Searing pain blossomed in his forehead, his vision blurred and suddenly he was blinded with white light… Then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello, God. Father. Uh, it’s me, Castiel. I hope you have your ears connected. I need to ask you something very important.

“It’s about Dean Winchester. I know I haven’t been a model son lately, and to be honest I’ve started to doubt if you’re there at all… But if you are, I need your help. Dean needs your help.

“He’s… He’s not well. Sam and I are doing everything we can, but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of cure for what happened to him. Nobody we’ve spoken to has ever seen anything like it, and I’m… I’m starting to lose hope.

“I know you’ve always kept an eye out for me, and for the Winchesters, so if you’re there, please send help. Please. I-I’ve lost so much, and I know most of that was my fault but I-I can’t lose Dean. Not now. Not like this.

“Please.”

\--

It was supposed to have been a straightforward case. Difficult, maybe, but straightforward. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.

Hunters had told Sam of a vampire nest warring over territory with a pack of werewolves and it was beginning to get messy. Dean had suggested bringing Cas and heading on over to help take the whole lot out. And that was how it had begun.

They arrived in Coon Rapids, Minnesota at 2am and checked straight into the first motel they found. The clerk had looked at the trio with raised eyebrows when they’d requested only one room, but said nothing and checked them in. She hadn’t liked the way the one in the trenchcoat glowered at her.

On getting to the room, Dean dropped his bag and flopped face-first onto the mattress. Sam soon followed suit, but not before neatly setting his things aside. Wordlessly, Castiel watched over the brothers, listening intently to the sounds of the night.

After a few hours Sam was sleeping like a moose on tranquilizers but Dean was restless, and soon awoke. He looked around as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, smiling briefly at the look on Cas’ face. He was watching the shopping channel and looked deeply perplexed.

With a glance at Sam to make sure he really was asleep, Dean got up and went to sit beside the angel. For a few minutes they watched TV in silence, but Dean’s restlessness was apparent and Castiel turned to him with a look of concern. Dean sighed.

“Listen, Cas,” he began, voice low. “When this is over I, uh, I need you to go. You can’t come home with us. I’m sorry, buddy.”

“What happened, Dean? I can help you if you tell me what’s going on,” Castiel replied, brow creased in worry.

“No, no, there’s nothing going on. I promise. I just, uh-“Dean stuttered.

“Dean,” said Cas, looking at him pointedly.

“No really, it’s all good. It’s just, uh, it’s Sam. He’s jealous because we’re better friends and he hasn’t got-“

“ _Dean_.”

“Alright! God damn it, alright,” said Dean, glancing furtively at Sam. Thankfully he was still snoring loudly.

“Look, I’m just, uh, I’m going through a lot of stuff right now, okay? And you being around, it just complicates everything. I need some time to sort my head out.”

There were a few beats where the only sound was the woman on TV twittering away about stainless steel knives, but both men paid her no heed.

“So,” said Cas, eventually, “you’re going to push away the one friend that might be able to help you through this ‘stuff’? Is our bond not strong enough for you to trust me with whatever’s bothering you?”

Dean groaned, passing a hand over his face.

“No, Cas, you don’t get it. Out of all people, you can’t help me. You’re an angel, how could you understand?”

Castiel’s frown deepened and for a moment he looked angry, but his face softened again as he looked at Dean.

“I understand a great deal more than you give me credit for, Dean. Yes, I am still an angel, but I’m different to most. I fell from Heaven of my own accord. For you. How many angels have done that?”

“Well, none, but-“

“I have fought monsters for you. I have healed you more times than I can count. I drop everything to come when you call me.”

“Cas, I-“

“I marched on heaven for you. I killed my own brothers and sisters for you. I died, Dean, for you. Everything I’ve done since the day I dragged you out of the pit has been for you. Don’t you think that perhaps I deserve to know why you’re pushing me away?”

Dean said nothing for a very long time. Cas was staring at him in a way that made him feel both nervous and guilty but he just could not find the right words to explain himself. Time seemed to stretch in an otherworldly way and then, all of a sudden, Sam was standing in front of them demanding to know whose turn it was to get breakfast. Like shattering glass the tension broke and they went about their morning routine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just informed that I posted chapter 2 twice. I can't believe it was like that for 6 months, what an idiot I am. Here is the real chapter 3.

2am was a bad time to have arrived in Coon Rapids. In any town the night would be dangerous but in Coon Rapids 2am was when the night crawled with monsters. Both vampires and werewolves had seen the infamous Impala roll into town; had caught the lingering scent of petrol in the air and seen where the trail led. One word echoed around the town, a susurrus that spread like wildfire. _Winchesters._

\--

“Okay,” said Dean, pacing slowly in front of the fireplace. “Sam will take Cas and Sasha over to the vamp nest and take them out. We know where they are, and they’ll be asleep for a few hours yet so it should be an easy job. In the meantime, Georgia can come with me and Paul to track down the wolves. By the time you guys get back we’ll have a location and we can head out and clear them together. Everyone good?”

There was a chorus of muttered agreement from the hunters, accompanied by the sounds of guns being checked and knives being sharpened.

“Alright then. Georgia, Paul, you ready?”

Georgia was a tall, voluptuous redhead in her late forties and the mother of the twin hunters Paul and Sasha. She was dressed in combat boots, skin-tight jeans, a thigh-length leather jacket and wielded both shotgun and machete. She rolled her eyes at Dean and sighed.

“We ain’t rookies, Dean. Let’s go.”

“After you,” replied Dean, gesturing her out. “Call me when the nest is clear, Sam,” he added.

They spent a good couple of hours canvassing the area, but Georgia and the twins had got to Coon Rapids a few days earlier than Dean and co., and had already done a lot of the groundwork. With their help he tracked the wolf pack down to an abandoned farmhouse on the edge of town, then went back to the squat (also of Georgia’s finding) to prepare for the fight.

When two more hours passed without word from Sam and Cas and only voicemail in answer to his calls, Dean decided that he and Paul should head to the nest and investigate. Georgia would stay behind in case they returned.

As Dean reached the door of the impala something fell from above and hit the roof with a squelch. Blood spattered across his face. Within a second his knife was drawn and he looked around for the source of the disturbance, but all was quiet and still.

Dean turned around to see what had hit the car and grimaced. It was Sasha’s head, and between his bloody teeth was stuffed a note.

“You’re surrounded,” he read, grimly.

\--

What ensued was a bloody, gory, nasty fight. Both vampires and werewolves attacked at once and it took everything the three had to survive.

Georgia had been bitten by a wolf and her left leg was shredded, she cried out in pain from the floor behind Dean, surrounded by bodies and slashing at anything that came near.

Wave after wave of vamps and wolves attacked the hunters, wearing them down, exhausting them. Dean and Paul circled each other, trying to watch each other’s backs and fend off the monsters that snarled at them, but there were too many.

Three vamps and two werewolves leapt at Dean at once, and Paul was too busy to realise. Five sets of teeth sank into Dean’s flesh and tore at him. His blood mixed with countless others’ on the floor as he fell to it, hitting his head with a sickening crack. Blood was in his mouth. He heard laughter. Then all went dark.

\--

The white light gradually faded and Dean’s vision came back to him. He looked around slowly, shaking his head in disbelief at what he saw. He was sitting to the table in Bobby Singer’s kitchen, a beer in one hand and a pizza in front of him. Everything was as he remembered – and very distinctly _not_ burned to a crisp.

“Dean. I must admit, I’m surprised to be seeing you so soon.”

Dean groaned loudly, recognising the voice instantly.

“I knew something was up. I’m dying?” he said, turning to look at Death.

Death stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane and smiling vaguely.

“Of course you are. You don’t have long left, actually.”

“What happened this time?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Death, and for a brief moment he looked almost surprised. “To be honest, it’s disappointing. You’re probably better off not knowing.”

Dean snorted and took a few sips of beer. It was good. For a second he entertained the idea of just going with Death and experiencing good beer forever. The thought dissipated however when he thought of leaving Sam and Cas behind. His mind raced as he tried to think of some way to get out of his current sticky situation.

“If it’s so disappointing, why did you come for me? Why not send a lackey?” he asked, stalling for time. As nonchalantly as he could, he stood up and started to pace around, gradually meandering his way towards the door. Death watched him.

“Believe me, Tessa was itching to be here, but it’s so rare for me to build up a rapport with my… clients. I wanted to see you through myself.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” said Dean.

“You should be.”

Dean didn’t reply, but wrenched open the back door and geared up to run. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw that ‘outside’ was simply grey nothingness. Slowly, he turned back around.

“Your brain is shutting down, Dean. Like I said, you don’t have long left. Why don’t you sit? Have some pizza. I brought it especially, from the restaurant where we first met, do you remember? I thought it fitting.”

Dean was struggling to think straight. He closed the door and walked back towards the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead a scream of pain escaped. A line of white light appeared across his chest, growing bigger and brighter by the second. The pain was unbearable and still the light got brighter, it filled the room and for the second time he was blinded. A high pitched whine filled his ears. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam, Castiel and Sasha had walked straight into a trap.

There had been no sign that anything was amiss. It had looked like an ordinary nest full of sleeping vamps and they had gone in full of confidence. They had walked right into the middle of the old barn ready to start a fight, and been surrounded by holy fire.

Caught by surprise and severely outnumbered, Sasha and Sam were dragged through the flames. They put up a good fight, managing to decapitate a couple vamps and badly injure some others, but eventually they were overpowered and hauled away. Castiel watched, helpless, from within his fiery prison.

For a long while the angel was alone, desperately trying to think of a way out. Then the screams started, and he recognised one of them as Sam’s.

“Sam?” he called, but got no answer. “Sam!”

He continued to call out for an unknown amount of time, but nothing happened. Still, he tried. Until;

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” mocked a voice from the shadows. Castiel spun to face it but could see only a vague shape beyond the flames.

“Show yourself,” he commanded. The figure moved, but did not step into the light. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me, Castiel? How could you forget your own brother?”

“I have many brothers,” replied Cas, squinting into the darkness. “And I have killed many brothers still. Show yourself.”

The shadow laughed. The laugh was feminine, but it was deep and echoed around the rafters. Slowly, the figure stepped forward to reveal a woman of Amazonian proportions. Tall and beautiful with a mane of dark, curly hair; her caramel skin glinted in the flickering firelight. Castiel saw none of this, gasping in surprise as he looked upon her true face.

“Raguel?”

“The one and only,” she grinned, stepping closer. “How have you been, baby brother?”

“I thought you were dead,” said Cas, tactful as ever.

“Dead? Me? No. Just resting. Letting the whole Apocalypse thing blow over for a while before I start my work anew. But you, you’ve been very busy, haven’t you Castiel?” She started to circle around him as she spoke, edging closer then further away.

“Well, I-“

“Now now, don’t be modest. You’ve had a hectic couple of years, from what I’ve heard. You fell, down, down, aallllll the way down,” Raguel said, in a sing-song voice, twirling a little. She still grinned widely, then suddenly she looked murderous.

“You defied Heaven,” she snapped. “You defied Father. You defied ME.”

“I did what I had to, for the good of Humanity,” replied Cas, voice level. Raguel had always been a little power-mad, but right now he seemed a little unhinged. In the background Sam’s screams still rang out. Sasha’s had long since stopped.

“For the good of Humanity! For the good of Humanity!” Raguel mocked, her voice babyish and unpleasant. “For the good of Dean Winchester, perhaps.”

“Dean and I do share a special bond,” Cas agreed, nodding.

“A special bond!” said Raguel, shrieking with laughter. “Oh, my dear little brother, you are so naïve.” Abruptly she stopped laughing, stepping extremely close to the flames in order to look at him.

“Call it what you will, it matters not. You will never see him again. I am the Angel of Vengeance, charged with punishing the wicked. And Dean Winchester is _oh, so wicked_ ,” she hissed.

Castiel had no time to reply before there was a commotion at the door. He turned to see a group of vampires entering the barn. They were accompanied, to his surprise, by a handful of werewolves. As they parted he saw that between them they carried the limp body of Dean.

“My darlings, welcome back!” cried Raguel, practically skipping towards them and clapping with glee. “Well done, well done. Just put him down here, that’s it. Perhaps Castiel can have one last look after all. Now, scurry along, that’s it darlings. Leave me to my business.”

Gingerly, as if they were still afraid of him despite his current condition, the monsters placed Dean on the floor in front of the holy fire and hurried away. None of them looked Raguel directly in the eye.

Grinning, Raguel knelt down beside Dean and stroked his bloody face. She shot a pointed look at Castiel, then leaned down and kissed Dean gently on his forehead.

“I can see why you like him, little brother,” she said softly. “But it won’t save him.”

“Raguel, please. What are you doing this for? God is gone. You don’t have to punish anyone.”

Raguel shrieked.

“God is alive, and He is here! He is everywhere! You defy Him every day, Castiel. I will punish Dean and I will make you watch, and when I am done I will punish you, too!”

Raguel raised one hand and it began to glow. Slowly she brought it closer to Dean’s chest, then plunged into him. Yellow light spilled outwards and Dean began to writhe and cry out in pain as the angel touched his soul.

“Dean!” cried Cas, railing against the flickering walls of his prison. His skin hissed and burned as he touched the flames, but still he tried.

Dean screamed louder as Raguel began to pinch and scratch at his soul, tearing it, maiming it, destroying it. Then, suddenly, he kicked out and caught the angel full in the chest. She flew backwards into the flames, breaking the line and screaming in pain and rage.

Wasting no time, Cas used Raguel’s body as a bridge to escape the holy fire. He hoisted Dean’s unconscious body over his shoulder and teleported to a random motel room somewhere in Kansas.

Gently, he laid the hunter on the bed, making sure the pillow was fluffed and that the blankets were pulled to his chin. He used his sleeve to wipe the blood from Dean’s face, as he had seen humans do before.

Hastily, he drew a few angel warding sigils on the walls and windows, then went back to rescue Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t know what else I can do, Sam. I’ve tried healing him but it’s like his wounds are… repelling me. I can feel the taint in him, from the vampires. It’s reacting with the werewolf bites. And his soul… I don’t know what Raguel did but I know something’s wrong, and Dean is too weak for me to take a look. It could kill him if I tried.”

Cas shook his head sadly, looking down at Dean’s unconscious form. He looked so peaceful, but the angel could only imagine the war going on inside. He sighed heavily.

“Have you had any luck with your research?” he asked.

“No,” said Sam, with a sigh of his own. “I’ve spoken to a few experienced hunters, they’ve never heard anything like it. I asked Garth to put the word out, but I’m not holding my breath. The Men of Letters are no help, either, so far. I’m still working my way through the files.”

“Well, keep going. There has to be something. Don’t stop until you find it.”

Sam had not slept in three days and was about to tell Cas how little he appreciated the attitude, but the look on the angel’s face stopped him. He had never seen a look quite like it; somewhere between heartbreak and despair, with a healthy dose of rage and determination. With a slight smile, he slipped away to continue his search.

Cas watched Sam leave, sinking slowly onto the bed beside Dean. Gently he placed one hand on the hunter’s face and willed him to heal. He squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating all his power as he had done countless times over the past few days. He poured everything he had, more than was probably healthy to give, into Dean’s body.

“Please, Dean,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to do without you. Please wake up.”

\--

A few more days passed in much the same manner. Dean did not as much as roll over in bed, and Castiel did not leave his side for a second. Sam fetched an IV and other necessary provisions from the bunker’s infirmary, and helped to dress the still open wounds on Dean’s body, but otherwise he was engrossed in research.

Every now and again he came across something he thought might help, and came rushing into Dean’s room. Whenever he entered he saw the angel either trying to heal Dean, talking to him, or even dabbing his brow with a damp cloth. Each time Cas looked up with such hope in his eyes, and each time both of them were disappointed.

Sam refused to give up, and was running himself ragged trying to save his big brother, but it was clear even to him that Dean was only getting weaker. They were running out of time. It took him a while to gather himself, but eventually he decided that it was time to convince Cas that they needed to take more drastic measures.

Slowly he pushed open Dean’s door, and his jaw dropped.

“Cas! What are you doing?”

Castiel was knelt on the bed beside Dean, elbow deep in the hunter’s chest. The room was filled with a white glow and a high whining sound.

“Not now, Sam,” he said.

“What do you mean, not now? What’s going on?” Sam asked, racing to Dean’s side. The older Winchester appeared to be fitting, and foamed at the mouth. Small moans escaped his blue-tinged lips. For lack of anything else to do, Sam helped hold him down.

“He was dying, Sam. I had to do something, I-“

Suddenly, Dean screamed loudly and sat bolt upright, flinging Sam and Cas to opposite sides of the room. His eyes were finally open, but they glowed white.

“What the hell did you do, Cas?” Sam cried, getting to his feet.

“I gave him my Grace.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You did what?” said Sam, eyes wide with disbelief.

A sudden wind began to blow around the room, picking up magazines, clothes and other miscellanea and flinging them around. The sheets whipped around Dean where he sat on the bed, stock still with eyes still aglow.

“My Grace, Sam. I gave him my Grace. I wasn’t expecting this, however,” replied Cas, getting to his own feet. He looked at Dean with equal parts confusion and worry.

“What do you mean? What’s happening to him?”

Dean still did not move, but the wind was getting stronger. The high pitched whine was extremely loud now and began to hurt their ears.

“I don’t know,” said the angel.

“VA TE CA RA,” began Dean. His voice was flat and emotionless.

“Enochian,” said Sam.

“Yes. He’s reciting his angel commands. _My_ angel commands.”

“Well, what do we do? How do we fix it?”

“Normally I would suggest inserting pins. I don’t think that would be a good idea in this instance.”

“Well we can’t leave him like this!” said Sam, exasperated. The feeling of being so powerless was really grating on him, as was his severe lack of sleep. Warily, he stepped closer to the bed and bent down beside Dean’s face.

“VA TE CA RA,” boomed Dean, oblivious. Sam flinched.

“Dean? Dean, can you hear me? Wake up!”

“SAL VL D. Z BALIT SA TVLE,” said Dean.

“Dean!” Sam tried waving his hand in front of his brother’s face. He tried poking him in the chest. He tried pinching him. He pulled at his eyelids, held his nose shut, shouted in his ear – Dean was rock solid. He sat on the bed, defeated, as his brother continued to chant in Enochian.

On the other side of the room, Castiel had watched this display in silent contemplation. When Sam gave up he made a thoughtful noise, then stepped close and socked Dean in the face. The wind died as he fell back into the pillows, unconscious once more. Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What? At least now he’s stopped chanting,” said Cas.

“And when he wakes up again?”

“I don’t know.”

Cas stood at the foot of the bed, leaning heavily on the footboard. Sam looked at him with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Cas, doing his best to straighten up. “No. Sort of. Something very strange happened. I think perhaps I still have some small part of my Grace. I don’t feel like an angel any more, but I don’t feel human either.”

“So, what does that mean? What about Dean?” frowned Sam.

“I don’t know. To my knowledge this has never been done before. Why would an angel ever give up his grace for a human?”

“Why _did_ you?” asked Sam, looking sideways at him.

“Wouldn’t you do anything in your power to save him?” Castiel asked.

“I’d do what I could. But he’s my brother, I love him,” Sam said.

“Yes,” Cas replied simply.

\--

It wasn’t long before Dean woke again, but this time there was no mighty wind or strange glow, he simply opened his eyes and groaned.

“Dean!” said Sam and Cas in unison, peering down at him.

“What is this, a slumber party?” said Dean, pushing himself upright. “Give me some room, jeez.”

Hunter and angel scrambled back out of Dean’s way, both watching him as if he could explode at any moment. Dean frowned at them.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

Sam said nothing and simply hugged his big brother, squeezing him tightly for a moment then parting with a few pats on the neck. Dean looked confused, but hugged back.

Almost as soon as Sam had let him go he found Cas in his arms instead. His confusion doubled, but he hugged back all the same, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

“Is someone gonna tell me what all this is about?” he asked, looking between them.

“What do you remember?” asked Sam.

“We were in the motel… Then, nothing,” he shrugged. “Why, what happened?”

“It’s not important,” said Cas, hurriedly. “How do you feel? Are you alright?”

Dean’s entire body ached and his head was fuzzier than a bad hangover. His chest felt like it was full of angry bees, and his face felt like it had been hit by an angry bear. On top of that his stomach growled like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Peachy,” he said. “A cheeseburger couldn’t hurt, though.”

“You don’t feel… different?” persisted Cas.

“Should I?”

“Uh, no. No, just checking,” he replied, avoiding Sam’s pointed look.

“Ooookay then. Well, you guys can fill me in on everything, but first I gotta take a leak and get some eats,” Dean said, smiling goofily at his rhyme. Cas returned the smile. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Welcome back, Dean.”

\--

“So what you’re telling me is that this Raguel guy, this Angel of Vengeance or whatever he calls himself, arranged the whole thing just to lure us out and kill us? Seems like overkill, if you ask me,” said Dean. He leaned back in his chair, popping the top off his beer with a satisfying hiss.

“Strictly speaking Raguel is not the ‘Angel of Vengeance’,” said Cas. “He was appointed by God to keep everyone in accordance with His laws. He has always been a little theatrical, but there’s something wrong with him. He is… Well, he appears to have gone mad.”

“Great, just what we need. Another crazy friggin angel with a vendetta against us.”

“He got the jump on us this time,” said Sam, “but we know he’s out there now. We’ve killed angels before, we can take him down just the same.”

Sam yawned loudly. His eyes were getting increasingly hard to keep open. He noticed Castiel move awkwardly, as if he were trying to stifle his own yawn, and shot him a look. Cas looked back, giving him an almost imperceptible shake of the head before looking back towards Dean.

“Dude, when was the last time you got some shut-eye?” asked Dean, noticing for the first time the dark circles under his brother’s eyes. “Go to bed. I’m fine, I promise.”

Sam hesitated, but Dean appeared to be normal now and it had been a very long week. With a muttered g’night and a slap on the shoulder as he passed, he excused himself for bed.

Dean and Castiel sat in silence for a little while after Sam had left. It was a testament to their friendship that they were able to enjoy each other’s company without talking. But eventually, as usual, Dean spoke.

“I, uh, I heard you, you know. Talking to me, when I was unconscious.”

“You did? I wasn’t sure if you would. I’m glad,” replied Cas, smiling faintly.

“You’re glad? I figured some of that stuff was kinda, well, private,” Dean said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Private? I was talking to you, Dean. Why wouldn’t I want you to hear it?”

“See, this is the crap I was talking about in Minnesota. This is why I asked you not to come back here. Do you even know what you’re saying half the time? Do you know how it comes off?”

“I don’t understand,” said Cas, brow furrowed. “Am I not supposed to tell you how I feel? We have talked about our feelings many times, Dean.”

“I know, but before it was always… Well, now I realise… And you never… Ah, damn it, I don’t know,” said Dean, frustrated.

“What’s the matter?” asked Cas, concerned. He wondered if the Grace inside Dean was beginning to have adverse effects.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” said Dean. With a sigh, he put down his near-empty bottle and stood up.

“For the record, I don’t know what I’d do without you either, buddy,” he said, patting Cas on the shoulder as he walked towards his bedroom.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel was finding life a little more difficult since he had downloaded most of his Grace to Dean. He was constantly tired, hungry, cold – in fact he seemed to be experiencing the full range of human functions and emotions. Which wasn’t at all a bad price to pay for Dean’s life, he reasoned, but it was becoming a chore to try and hide it from him.

Sam questioned him at every opportunity; why didn’t he tell Dean? What was going to happen to him? What was going to happen to Dean? _Why wouldn’t he tell Dean?_ It was exhausting.

Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure why he couldn’t tell Dean. He had tried a few times, but he was finding it increasingly hard to hold a conversation with the man. Dean was being deliberately distant, and seemed to be going out of his way to avoid being alone with him. He confined himself to his bedroom, devoting his time to tracking down Raguel.

When Cas _did_ manage to speak to him, he found himself tripping over his words as if English had suddenly become a foreign language to him. He was clumsy on top of it, somehow managing to make a fool out of himself every time.

All this meant a quiet and stressful few days in the bunker until, finally, Sam got a lead on some of Raguel’s followers. He roused Dean and Cas, leaving them to get their gear together for the trip. They packed in silence, taking in turns to glance at one another.

Eventually, Dean coughed and straightened up, meeting Cas’ eyes briefly as he gave him a thorough once-over.

“You, uh, why aren’t you wearing your trenchcoat?” he asked.

“Oh, well, Sam thought it would be better if I wore a disguise. Everyone recognises the coat, so he thought it might give us a slight advantage,” replied Cas, shrugging.

“Looks good,” said Dean, nodding in approval at the angel’s newly acquired jeans and plaid shirt. They were a little too big, having been borrowed from Sam, but they suited him. He looked rugged, like a hunter.

“It’s missing something though,” added Dean, looking thoughtful. “Here,” he said, picking up the jacket he had planned to wear and tossing it to Cas.

Cas shrugged it on and fiddled with it, rather unsure of himself. Clothes were not his strong point.

“No, not like that,” said Dean, sighing as he watched Cas struggle, though he could feel the ghost of a smile pull at his lips. He took a few steps closer and pulled at the jacket, straightening it.

“Like this,” he said softly, untucking the collar where Cas had gotten it caught in his shirt, and positioning it properly.

Cas said nothing. Dean was close enough that he could feel his warm breath on his face. He forced himself to meet the hunter’s gaze and for a brief moment they just looked at one another. Then Dean stepped back, dropping his eyes and nodding again.

“Better. You look like a hunter now. I’ll meet you at the car,” he said, and then he was gone.

\--

“Okay, we can do this one of two ways,” said Dean, looking down at the chair in front of him – it contained one of Raguel’s foot soldiers, a vampire they had captured and brought to an abandoned warehouse to be interrogated. “I’m sure you know what your options are, so are you gonna talk or not?”

The vampire looked up with bloodshot eyes. It took most of her energy just to lift her head. Dead man’s blood still coursed through her, like anaesthetic.

“Go to hell,” she said, spitting before letting her head fall to her chest again.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea,” said Dean. He reached forward and grabbed her hair, yanking her head up so that she had no choice but to look at him. He held a machete to her throat, just hard enough that it nicked the skin.

“Now this is your last chance. Either you die and we move on to one of your comrades, or you tell us what you know and we let you get the hell out of here. Which is it gonna be?”

The girl glared at Dean for a moment, silent. All three men tensed, waiting to spring into some kind of action. They breathed a collective sigh of relief as she closed her eyes and nodded gently.

“Alright. I’ll tell you what I know. It’s not much, but if it saves my ass, so be it.”

Dean pulled up another chair, sitting backwards on it and resting his arms on the back, watching her. Sam and Cas stood one on either side of him, like movie henchmen.

“Raguel is mad, but he’s promising us all kinds of rewards and most of us don’t have anything better to do than to follow him. Even if he doesn’t follow through, it gives us purpose, you know?”

“Get to the good bits,” Dean said, gruff.

“Well, for a start he wants you dead. You, your brother, your angel boyfriend over there. You broke the rules, all of you.”

“But why is Raguel working with you?” Cas asked, stepping forward. “Why would an angel work with monsters?”

“He says Heaven abandoned him. He doesn’t trust any angels. Well, except Michael.”

Dean shared a look with Sam and Cas. It was a look of dread and a reluctance to ask the question.

“The Archangel Michael?” asked Sam.

“That’s him,” said the girl, nodding. Her strength was returning as the dead blood wore off, and she sat a little straighter in her chair, a little more defiantly.

“That cannot be,” said Castiel, shaking his head. “Michael is in the cage with Lucifer. He’s trapped in hell.”

“No, he’s here. I saw him. Heard him talking with Raguel. He’s not too happy about you guys, either. He seemed mad at Raguel for trying to kill you though, Dean. Apparently you’re important.”

“But how? How could Michael get out of the cage?” asked Sam, stepping closer. The three of them crowded her, all desperate to know more.

“Beats me. I’m just a lowly servant, nobody tells me that stuff. But I know what I heard. Michael’s back and he’s looking for his vessel.”


	8. Chapter 8

The vampire struggled weakly at her bonds, but she was still suffering from the effects of dead man’s blood. Sam, Dean and Cas watched her with vague disinterest from the other side of the warehouse.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” said Sam, brow creased with worry.

“If she was going to lie to us, it wouldn’t make sense for her to tell us something like this,” replied Cas.

“I’ll tell you what doesn’t make sense,” said Dean. “How did Michael get out? He was locked in there tight. We didn’t go through all that for nothing. And why does he want me? As far as we know, Lucifer’s still down there, so the big fight is still off.”

“What if he’s not?” said Sam, and for a brief moment he looked afraid.

The three exchanged glances. They had too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

“I’m sure we’d have heard something if Lucifer was out,” said Cas, trying to reassure Sam.

“Yeah, sure,” said Sam, not convinced.

“No, Cas is right,” said Dean, giving Sam a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ve heard nothing about Lucifer, but Michael is back, apparently. He’s what we need to focus on. Sam, I think you should head back to the bunker and start calling up your contacts, see if anyone else has caught wind of this. Cas and I can stay here and lean on the vamps, try and get a better lead on Raguel or Michael. Alright?” He didn’t mention the fact that Sam would be safest hidden in the bunker – if there was even a slim chance that Lucifer was back, Dean wanted Sam as far away as possible.

“I… Are you sure?” asked Sam. He directed the question to Dean, but he looked at Castiel. The angel nodded subtly, out of Dean’s eyeshot.

“Yes I’m sure, why wouldn’t I be sure?” said Dean.

“Uh, just checking. I’ll see you guys later, then,” said Sam, still a little hesitant. He glanced between Cas and Dean, then sighed and left, shaking his head as he went.

Dean’s eyes followed Sam until the door closed, then snapped back to Cas.

“What the hell’s going on, Cas?” he said. “Michael, seriously? I thought we were done with that dick.”

“I know as much as you do, Dean. I thought we were done with Michael, too.”

“So what are we gonna do? We can’t le-“

Dean stopped, his mouth hanging open. His eyes glazed as he stared off into the distance, listening intently, brow furrowed. He was like this for a few long moments until finally he snapped back, bewilderment clear on his face.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what? Nothing happened,” said Cas, concerned. “Are you alright, Dean?” he asked, stepping closer. He placed a hand on Dean’s arm and looked intently at him.

Dean froze at his touch. He refused to meet Cas’ eye as he replayed what he had heard. It had sounded like many things at once. It sounded like the high pitched whine he had come to associate with angel’s true voices. It also sounded like Enochian, but somehow he had understood it, despite Sam’s many failed attempts at teaching him. On top of that it sounded like something much harder to describe; like voices or thoughts inside his head, inside his being, that he knew didn’t belong to him. They had all talked at once, like an auditorium filled with excited people, then suddenly they had stopped.

He had managed to pick out a few words from the cacophony. His name, Michael’s, Cas’, Sam’s, Raguel’s… In those few seconds he had heard a thousand conversations and they all talked about things nobody could know. Unless…

“Cas,” Dean said slowly, meeting the angel’s intense blue stare, “what does angel rad-“

His sentence turned into a too-late cry of warning as a knife plunged between Cas’ shoulder blades. The angel grunted in pain, falling to his knees beside Dean. Before he had chance to pick up his own blade the vampire came at him instead, thrusting her knife towards his chest. Dean tried to deflect it and the blade buried itself in his arm instead. He felt it scratch along his ulna but to his surprise, felt no pain. He would wonder about it later, he thought.

Dean jerked his arm, wrenching the knife out of the vampire’s grasp. He pulled the blade out of his flesh and brandished it at her. His own crimson blood dripped from the tip and he could see that she was torn between her inhuman hunger and her fear. That second of indecision was all he needed; he stepped forward and slashed at her neck, severing her windpipe. She fell to the floor in a tangled heap, trying feebly to get away, but Dean towered over her with menace in his eyes. Two more slashes and her head rolled across the floor.

Dean dropped the knife with a clatter and slid to his knees beside Cas, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw the angel’s eyelid’s flutter.

“Cas,” he said softly, unsure of himself. “Cas, buddy, since when does a little pig-sticker like that put you out of action?  Come on, up you get.”

He put an arm around the other man, supporting him as best he could without touching the wound. Cas groaned loudly and he stopped, at a loss. Blood saturated the borrowed jacket.

“Dean,” said Cas, somewhat feebly. “I need your help, please, and don’t question me.”

“I, uh, okay?”

Slowly Cas reached across and took Dean’s free hand. It felt unusually cold and for a moment he just held it, as if to warm it up. He could feel Dean’s eyes boring into him but refused to meet them, afraid to see if they were as cold as his skin.

Equally slowly, he brought Dean’s hand up and placed it on his own face. Dean took the initiative and cupped Cas’ cheek gently, and though his face betrayed his confusion, he said nothing. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak.

Cas’ hand rested on top of Dean’s. He took a few laboured breaths, then closed his eyes, instructing Dean to do the same.

“Now, this is going to sound very strange, but I need you to uh, gather your consciousness,” said Cas. “And then you have to, to push it towards me, through your hand, and into my body.”

“You want me to what?” said Dean, opening his eyes.

“I said don’t question me,” Cas snapped. He wasn’t used to pain, especially not this much pain. He took a few more deep, difficult breaths.

“I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Please, just trust me and do as I say.”

“Alright,” replied Dean. He adjusted his hand slightly, his thumb brushing the stubble on Cas’ pale cheek.

“Now, gather your consciousness and push it into me. Seek out my injuries, feel the hole in my heart and knit it back together with your will.”

Dean shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, then squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated. It was, to his surprise, something that came easily to him. He felt his sense of self become like a ball of light. It travelled down his arm, through his fingers and into Castiel’s body.

The injuries stood out to him like black and white and his little ball of consciousness drifted towards them, watching them heal as he got closer. He saw the hole in Cas’ heart close up, the blood draw back into his body and the skin stitch back together. It took seconds.

He felt a flood of relief and wellbeing that he recognised as Cas’ consciousness and he drifted close to it, trying to reach out to it, to touch it. A tendril of him brushed it and he felt an incredible shock like he had been electrocuted, then suddenly he was back in his body, looking down at his reflection in the angel’s smiling eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

“Your Grace,” said Dean flatly.

“Yes,” replied Cas.

“You gave me your Grace.”

“Yes.”

“You, Castiel, Angel of the Lord and multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, gave me, Dean Winchester, Human and God-hating bag of crap, your Grace,” said Dean, gesturing exaggeratedly. He seemed amused.

“I don’t think you’re-“

Dean interrupted him with a loud burst of laughter. It echoed around the room and bounced back at them in a tin-like mimic of itself. It was an almost sinister sound.

“I spent forty years in hell,” he said, chuckling. “I have tortured, killed, maimed, tricked, schemed, gambled, adulterated and broken so many laws that it’s almost a world record. I’m sure I’ve broken all ten Commandments. And now, what, I’m an angel?”

“No, I don’t think you’re angel. At least, not a full one,” said Cas thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to even acknowledge Dean’s list of sins – in Cas’ opinion the good Dean had done far outweighed any bad. He just wished Dean himself could understand that.

“So what then, am I a Nephilim? Are you my daddy?”

“Nephilim are created when an angel and a human procreate. I have never had sexual intercourse with your mother so I think it’s reasonable to assume that I am not your father.“

“Alright, simmer down,” said Dean, waving an irritated hand, though his lips quirked all the same and he shook his head in familiar exasperation.

He sat down on the one remaining chair in the warehouse, rope still looped around its legs where their prisoner had been restrained. He watched Cas pace in front of him as he silently brooded. The longer he thought about it the angrier he got, and his friend refused to meet his eyes.

“So, you don’t know what I am, you don’t know what this might do to me, what it might do to you? What the hell were you thinking, Cas?” Dean said.

“Dean, it was the only way I could think to save you. Your body was broken, your soul too damaged to keep you together. I couldn’t heal you, Sam couldn’t find any spells, what else was I supposed to do?”

“Not this!” said Dean, on his feet so quickly it was like he had never been sitting. His eyes bored into Cas’ skull.

“Why are you so mad at me?” Cas asked, his own anger bubbling up in his chest. It felt very human. “I saved your life! Again! The least you could do is be grateful for my sacrifice!”

“I never asked for your sacrifice!” Dean shouted, closing in on Cas. “I never asked to be a hunter, I never asked to be attacked and I damn sure never asked to be followed around by some interfering angel that constantly screws everything up!”

Cas had never been so angry in his life. He closed the small distance left between him and Dean, blue eyes flashing with fury, and punched him square on the jaw so hard he heard it crack.

Dean didn’t hesitate – instinct kicked in and he broke Cas’ nose before the angel’s fist had finished its trajectory.

Cas stumbled back, clutching at his face. Blood ran through his fingers and dripped down onto his borrowed shirt, but he barely noticed it. His eyes locked with Dean’s and they stood facing each other for a long moment, breathing heavily and scowling.

Castiel was feeling more emotions at once than he had felt thus far, but the hurt and betrayal showed most clearly on his face. Dean saw it and sighed heavily – he took a step towards his friend, eyes widening in surprise as Cas flinched away from him. He took another step and this time the angel stood his ground, staring him down as if daring him to throw another punch.

Instead, Dean gently raised one hand and touched it to Cas’ forehead. He closed his eyes and concentrated, willing the broken bone to knit itself back together the way he had been taught. He felt Cas’ consciousness nearby, could feel the jumble of emotion that radiated from it. Automatically, as he had done before, he reached out towards it, but instead of being jolted back to himself he felt as though he were falling into it.

As he fell he was bombarded with images – memories, he realised – of him mostly. Everything he and Cas had been through together, all the fights, all the mistakes, all the victories. As he watched the memories started to flip faster, focusing on his face, his eyes, his smile. Lingering glances at his freckled face, moments where they had stood together, almost touching but not quite, words that had never been said aloud. Then, suddenly, he was thrown back into himself, so forcefully that he stumbled back and away from Castiel.

Dean tried to process what he had just seen, but it was all too much. He shook his head as if to clear it and started towards the door with barely a backwards glance.

“Dean.”

Dean hesitated, pausing with one hand outstretched towards the door. Keeping his face carefully blank, he risked a look over his shoulder to see Cas looking imploringly at him.

“Dean, stay. Please.”

The hunter paused for an agonising moment, then shook his head again and left in silence, leaving Castiel alone.

\---

When both hunter and angel had left the warehouse, their silent witness descended from the rafters. He dialled a number on his phone, an eager smile on his face.

“Yeah, it’s me. Put me through to Michael, I’ve got some information he’s definitely gonna want.”


	10. Chapter 10

Cas was waiting at the motel when Dean returned. At first Dean didn’t notice him; he crossed to the counter, pulled out a glass and poured himself a large scotch from the half-empty bottle. It was only when he turned to sit down that he realised Cas was already at the table. There was a soundless, pregnant pause, before Dean slid the glass across the table and poured himself a replacement.

The silence stretched on as Dean sat opposite and took a long drink. Cas looked thoughtfully at his glass, then downed it in one. Dean raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed and almost amused. He passed Cas the bottle and he refilled his glass. The silence stretched on.

They drank until the bottle was empty. Without the distraction of the whisky they both fidgeted, realising that sooner or later someone was going to have to say something. They fidgeted a little more.

“How are you feeling?” asked Cas, eventually.

“Disappointingly sober,” said Dean, “and I already had a bottle before I got here.”

“That’ll be the Grace,” replied Cas, nodding knowingly.

“I figured,” said Dean.

“I remember when I was drunk before. It took a lot of liquor before I felt at all altered. Tonight it seems to be affecting me rather more quickly,” said Cas, pushing himself away from the table in order to stand up. He swayed a little, dizzy.

“Are you drunk?” asked Dean, eyebrow rising.

“No,” replied Cas, grabbing the fridge for support. “Uh, yes. Moderately.”

Despite himself, Dean found that he was smiling. He sighed heavily, drained the few drops that were left in his glass, and got up. Cas watched warily as he crossed to stand next to him, then slipped a supportive arm around his waist.

“Right. I got you, buddy. Let’s sit you down over here,” said Dean, pulling Cas in the direction of the couch.

Cas almost tripped over his own and Dean’s feet, the coffee table and Dean’s duffel bag, but somehow they made it across the room. He dragged Dean with him as he collapsed into the cushions, almost landing underneath him. Dean shook his head in exasperation and sat upright, though the familiar half-smile pulled at his lips. It seemed almost like normal.

“You good?” he asked.

“The room has stopped spinning now,” replied Cas. “So, yes. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Dean, making to get up. Cas grabbed his wrist.

“Dean, wait. I need to speak to you. What happened today, I-“

“Drop it, Cas. We don’t need to talk about it,” said Dean testily, attempting to get up again. Cas’ grip tightened on his wrist. They glared at each other.

“Yes. We do.”

“Alright, fine,” said Dean, wrenching his arm out of Cas’ hold. “You wanna talk about it, let’s talk about it. What do you want me to tell you? What can I possibly say that gets us both out of this without hurting? Because the fact is, what happened today makes no difference to us. It can’t. Ever. And I’m sorry if that upsets you but that’s the truth. Alright?”

“But, Dean…” started Cas, fixing him with round eyes.

“No, Cas! Look, even if I _was_ … If I ever wanted… Ah, dammit.” Dean took a step back, scowling.

“Look, forgetting the fact that you’re a nerdy little dude on the outside… You’re a star, a, a hurricane in a trench coat. A friggin angel! How could I _ever_ be good enough? The things I’ve done… I don’t even get why you’d even wanna be my friend. It blows me away every day the crap you’ve done for me, how many times you’ve saved me. And for what? So you can sit here in some scummy motel with me, without your wings and with a bunch of crazy, dangerous assholes on our tail?  I don’t deserve any of it, let alone anything more.”

Dean paused. As he’d talked he’d stood up without even realising it, pacing in front of the couch and avoiding all eye contact. He risked a look now to see the angel staring at him so intensely that he could only hold it for a few seconds before looking away again. He sighed.

“Besides. Everything I care about, everyone I’ve ever… It all turns bad, Cas. Everyone dies or worse. Mom, Dad, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Benny, Lisa, Ben, Sam… you. It’s bad enough the way things are. So _even if_ … I can’t. Alright? I just… Can’t.”

There was a long pause. The sound of water dripping from leaky guttering seemed to get louder by the second, filling the room with its irregular ticking. It dripped fast, then stopped. They waited, barely breathing, listening until it dripped again. Dean stared at the floor. Cas stared at Dean. Then, like shattering glass, another drop fell.

“That was a well prepared speech, Dean,” said Cas, getting to his feet. This time he did not sway.

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered.

Cas took a step closer, standing close enough to see each freckle, even in the dim light.

“Except, what you fail to understand is that none of it matters. Not even a little. You don’t get to decide whether you’re good or bad, and you _don’t_ get to decide the sacrifices other people make for you. Even if you did, you’d be a hypocrite. I’ve screwed up so much worse than you ever have. I’ve killed thousands more than you ever have or ever could. If we’re talking about who deserves what, I barely deserve to live. But that’s not what this is about and without that as an excuse you have nothing... I’m not an angel any more.”

Cas took a breath. His heart was thumping fit to burst. He had never felt so unsure of himself in the millennia he had lived. So much of this was new to him, and yet there was such clarity. He raised one hand and gripped Dean’s shoulder.

Slowly he moved his hand upwards, cupping the base of Dean’s head.

Dean froze, eyes wide. Cas’ warm breath was on his face. It smelled like whisky.

Their lips met. Uncertain at first, Cas barely brushing them together, but then Dean’s parted and gave him a new confidence. His free hand found its way to the small of Dean’s back, pulling him closer so that their bodies touched. He crushed his lips to Dean’s, kissing him fervently in alcohol-fuelled certainty.

Dean pushed them apart, a gentle hand on Cas’ chest keeping him a mere inch away.

“Cas, I…” he tried, but his mind was empty of excuses. His hand fell limply to his side.

Again, with renewed vigour, Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s. This time Dean’s response was much easier to read, as he kissed back quite aggressively. His arms encircled Cas, pressing him close then moving to tangle in his hair. Cas was startled as Dean pushed him backwards, almost slamming him into the wall as he kissed him. He let out a small noise of surprise, then another of disappointment as Dean took it as his cue to stop.

Dean leaned on the wall with one hand, face millimetres from Cas’, breathing hard. He looked disoriented, like he’d just awoken from a dream. Then he took a step back, shaking his head as if to clear it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I can’t.”

Before Cas had chance to even get his breath back Dean was gone, the familiar sound of the Impala roaring to life filling the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean drove aimlessly for a while, the classic rock station cranked up and the cool night air breezing in through the window. It was something he had done a thousand times and would usually have relaxed him, but tonight it did nothing. There was too much going on inside his head.

Cas had given him his Grace. Cas had kissed him _._ He was part angel now. Michael was back with a vengeance. _He had kissed_ _Cas._

He pulled out his phone and dialled Sam, not sure what he wanted to say but craving the sound of his brother’s voice. It rang, rang for a long time, rang some more, then cut to voicemail. Dean cursed and slammed the phone down onto the empty seat beside him.

Dean drove aimlessly a little longer, then finally pulled into a 24hr roadside diner. He spent a while eating greasy food and checking out the waitress, but his heart wasn’t really in it. He looked down at his unsatisfying burger and sighed, closing his eyes and longing for his warm mattress in the bunker. He figured the only thing left that might help was sleep, if he could manage it. It hadn’t been coming easily lately.

Dean opened his eyes again, ready to signal the waitress for the bill. She wasn’t there. Or rather, _he_ wasn’t there. He looked around in disbelief, then closed his eyes and opened them again, just to be sure.

The diner was gone. His greasy, overcooked burger was gone. The crappy old jukebox had stopped playing Elvis. It was all gone, and instead he was sitting on his bed, in his room, in the bunker, three states over.

Dean got up and opened the door, waiting for the other shoe to drop and some kind of trap to be revealed, but all he saw was the wall opposite. He turned and walked down towards his brother’s room, pushing the door open so hard it crashed back against the wall.

Sam sat up with a start, scrabbling for the pistol on his nightstand before his eyes were truly open.

“Dean?” he asked groggily, lowering the gun. “What the-?”

“Sorry, Sammy. Didn’t mean to wake you. Just had to make sure of something,” said Dean, backing up.

“No, wait,” said Sam, looking at the clock incredulously. “How are you here? Cas text me like two hours ago saying you were at the motel – in Indiana. Not even you drive that fast.”

Dean laughed. He couldn’t help it. How was he going to explain the absurdity of the situation to Sam?

“I teleported,” grinned Dean. Man, it felt good to grin.

“You what?” said Sam, rubbing his tired eyes, then his mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as realisation dawned.

“Oh right, the Grace! I mean- Crap,” he said, realising too late that he should not have said that.

“What do you mean ‘oh right,” demanded Dean. “You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Wait, how do _you_ know? Did Cas finally tell you? What happened?”

Dean opened his mouth, expression thunderous, but before he could speak a cacophony sounded inside his head. The angels were talking again and this time they were _loud_. A thousand voices screamed at him. It was painful.

Clutching at his head, Dean sat on the foot of Sam’s bed. He couldn’t make them stop. They were all so excited. Some were angry and it was like he could feel their rage, burning him from the inside out. He was hot, like being in a sauna. He ripped off his shirt, but it didn’t help.

“Dean? Are you alright? What’s happening?”

He could feel Sam beside him but Dean could barely turn his head to look at him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to single out a voice from the crowd, hoping he’d be able to figure out what had made the angels go so nuts. All he got were snippets of sentences;

“Michael’s going to _kill…”_

“Gave him his Grace…”

“Traitor...”

“Castiel… Indiana…”

“I know you can hear me, Dean Winchester.”

At the sound of this one voice the rest suddenly stopped, as if afraid, though somehow Dean could tell they were still listening.

“You know who I am. You know what I want. Meet me in one hour or Castiel will die.”

* * *

Cas stood where he was for a long, long moment, listening as the roar of the Impala faded away. Even after it was gone and all he could hear was the sound of rain in the gutters, he continued to stand there, staring at the door. He had been so stupid.

He traced his lips with a shaky finger, as if trying to find some evidence that they had been locked with Dean’s moments prior, but of course there was nothing. They were just lips. He used them to talk, and more recently to eat. They were a basic part of human anatomy, he knew. Still, he felt like there should be something more significant than the taste of whisky on them.

This train of thought was getting him nowhere. He had messed up yet again and now Dean was gone. Who knew if he would even see him again? Thinking back, Dean had been trying to get rid of him before all this had begun. He had just been too naïve to realise what was happening. He had thought he could _help._ Stupid Castiel had spent so long with humans he thought he knew them, but really he was as clueless as he had always been. He snorted derisively at himself and began to strip off, heading for the shower.

As the water poured erratically down from the cheap showerhead Cas’ thoughts were doing overtime. He knew it was crunch time and that Michael was already ten steps ahead. There was only one thing he could think to do, one thing that might save Dean.

Slowly he dried off and redressed, trying to think of some other plan, but he had nothing. He rummaged through the duffel bag that Dean had left behind, fondly looking at all the familiar weapons until he found what he needed. He hefted the angel blade in one hand, feeling the weight of it for a moment before hiding it up his sleeve. Then he knelt by the bedside and closed his eyes.

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, taking a deep breath.

“Michael,” he said, softly but firmly. “Brother. I need to talk to you. It’s about Dean Winchester. I-“

“Castiel.”

Cas whipped around, still on his knees. Michael was standing in the middle of the room, looking disgustedly at his surroundings. He was possessing a dark haired man in his thirties. He was handsome, with a strong jaw and deep green eyes. He reminded Cas of Dean, in a way. Perhaps Michael had a type.

“Michael. I didn’t expect you to come so quickly,” said Cas, scrambling to his feet.

“I have little time for small talk, Castiel,” replied the archangel. “You have news of Dean Winchester?”

“Uh, yes,” said Cas, smoothing down his shirt somewhat nervously. He took a shuffling step closer. “He was here, about an hour ago.”

“What good is that to me?” snapped Michael, eyes flashing with rage. “I don’t care where he was an hour ago. I need him _now_.”

“He’ll be on his way back to the bunker. I can take you there. We can wait for him,” said Cas. His voice was strained, like it hurt him to say the words.

“And why would you want to help me, Castiel, after having betrayed me so many times?” replied Michael, his voice clipped and cold.

“I… I need your help,” said Cas. He swayed a little, taking an involuntary step towards Michael in order to keep balance. “I need Grace. I gave mine to Dean.”

“I know,” said Michael.

This took Cas by surprise and he had to lean forwards onto the table for support, taking another small step closer to his big brother. They were a mere foot apart now. Michael had not moved since his arrival.

“Oh. Well, uh, good, I suppose. Do we have a deal?” asked Cas.

Michael nodded curtly. There was a brief moment of silence and then Cas jerked closer, free hand suddenly gripping an angel blade and plunging it towards Michael’s heart.

Michael dodged and the blade missed him by inches. He caught Cas’ arm and twisted hard until he heard a distinctly human snap. Cas cried out in pain, but did not drop the blade, instead wrenching himself away from Michael and circling around for another attack.

He transferred the blade to his good arm, broken one hanging limply by his side, then spun around and stabbed at Michael’s back. Michael smirked as he dodged yet again, hand darting out and gripping the blade. Strong fingers pulled impossibly hard until Cas had no choice but to let go.

“You think me stupid, brother?” said Michael, advancing on Cas. “You gave your Grace to this man and you expect me to believe you would give him up so easily?

“I just needed an opportunity,” replied Cas, grabbing a machete from the tabletop with his good hand and brandishing it at Michael.

“Come now, Castiel. What good will that do? You know as well as I that a mere knife cannot hurt me.”

“I’d rather see for myself, if it’s all the same to you,” said Cas, lunging at Michael again. If he was quick, if he could distract Michael with the machete he might be able to grab the angel blade and-

Michael grabbed Cas by the throat and slammed him against the wall, choking him. Dimly Cas had a vague thought that it was the same wall Dean had slammed him against, but then the last of his breath left him and his vision began to blur. He let out a last pathetic cry, doing his best to wriggle out of the archangel’s grasp, but it was no use. He felt his eyelids closing and he could do nothing to stop it. Darkness enveloped him.


	12. Chapter 12

The second Dean’s head cleared he was in full action mode. He jumped up and marched to his room without even glancing at Sam, and began to pull out every weapon he had stashed away. He wasn’t sure they would do much good, but he’d rather have them than turn up empty handed.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” asked Sam, having paused to hurriedly put on his robe before following his brother.

“It was Michael. In my head. He’s gonna kill Cas. Well, he’s not because I’m gonna stab him in his stupid friggin’ face,” replied Dean, throwing on a new shirt – one that didn’t smell of whisky. The thought of whisky gave him a vivid flashback of Cas’ lips, their bodies pressed against each other… No, no time to think about it. One hour. He only had one hour.

“Wait, wait, slow down,” said Sam, looking alarmed. “Michael has Cas? Are you sure?”

“Yeah I’m su-,” Dean began, then paused. “I dunno. He said he was gonna kill him if I didn’t go to him but he didn’t say much else. You think he could be bluffing?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Sam. “He wants you, after all, and he knows family is your weak spot. He knows all he has to do is threaten one of us and you’ll come running. Maybe we should check if Cas is still at the motel, a-“

“Good idea,” said Dean, and disappeared.

Sam waited for five long minutes, pacing the floor at the foot of Dean’s bed. In his mind he was going through every possible scenario, but he felt trapped. Unlike Dean, he had no newfound ability to teleport, and there was no way he was going to get to Indiana in under an hour no matter how fast he drove. What was he going to do if Dean didn’t come back? What could they do even if Dean did come back?

“He’s gone,” said Dean, making Sam jump.

“Jesus, Dean! It’s bad enough when Cas does that,” he said.

“Cas is gone. He’s not at the motel and it was locked from the inside. My angel blade is gone too. Michael has him, I can feel it,” said Dean. He was keeping it together fairly well, anyone but Sam would have thought he was just determined. But Sam heard the cracks in his brother’s voice and his dark eyes brimmed with sympathy.

“We’ll get him back, don’t worry,” said Sam, patting Dean on the shoulder.

“You aren’t going anywhere near Michael,” replied Dean, slotting a knife into his boot. “Him having Cas is bad enough, I won’t hand him any more leverage. Stay here and dig up what you can on that Raguel dude – once I’ve dealt with Michael we still need to take care of him.”

“Dean, you can’t go in there on your own, I-“

“Watch me,” said Dean, and disappeared.

“He really needs to stop doing that,” muttered Sam through gritted teeth.

\--

Dean materialised outside of an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Indiana, somewhere not too far from the motel where he and Cas had… Where they had stayed. Michael had sent him a vision of it and he was sure it was the right place, but it was deserted, without even the sound of a scurrying rat to break the silence.

Slowly he pushed the door open and peered inside, but all was dark and empty. He walked into the centre, squinting into corners just to be sure there was nobody watching. He was alone.

“I’m here, you son of a bitch!” Dean yelled. His voice echoed around the rafters. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

There was a click, then an almighty whoosh and everything was flames. Dean was surrounded by them, the heat licking at him, singeing his clothes. He gathered himself up, scouting for a gap in the flames, then leapt towards safety. His shoulder struck an invisible barrier and a shock went through him, like electricity, as he was bounced back to the centre of the circle.

“Not so much fun when it’s you on the inside, is it Dean?” said Michael. His handsome face was passive, the barest flicker of a satisfied smirk touching his lips. Dean glared at him.

“I hope you’ve come here in an acquiescent frame of mind,” Michael continued. “I’d rather not draw this out if we can help it.”

“I came here to tell you to bite me, actually,” said Dean. His fingers hovered near the hidden gun in his pocket, itching to shoot Michael in his smug face, even if all it did was irritate him. The heat was almost unbearable and he had to concentrate hard, using his borrowed Grace to continually heal his burns. Michael was right, holy fire wasn’t exactly Disneyland.

“Come on now Dean,” said Michael, sounding tired, “we’ve been through this before. You know that you are my true vessel. It was always meant to be that you and I would work together. You will say yes, and it will be easier for everyone if you just say it now.”

“You’re right, we’ve been through this before. And I’ll tell you now what I told you then – I have free will, and I am saying no. N. O. No,” said Dean firmly.

“Free will is an illusion, Dean,” said Michael, raising a hand.

He clenched it, and Dean’s gut clenched with it. He felt like his intestines were being stabbed repeatedly with hot knives. He fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach, grimacing with pain. “No,” he groaned.

“If you won’t say yes, we can easily find a certain brother of yours,” said Michael, peering down through the flames.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” spat Dean. His mouth tasted bloody. He tried as best he could to heal himself but he was new at this and not very good at it. It was taking most of his concentration to stop himself from burning and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep even that up. But Sam was safe in the bunker. They couldn’t get to him. Michael would have to do better than pain and idle threats.

“Hm, still a no?” said Michael placidly. “It’s not like we have many to use against you,” he added, pretending to think. “Well, I _do_ know of one. Does an angel in a trench coat ring a bell?”

_No! Not Cas, **please**! _ thought Dean. He was alarmed by just how intense the thought was.

“You will say yes, Dean. Or you will watch him die.”

“H-how do I know you’re not bluffing?” managed Dean, hoping against hope that he had been wrong, that Cas was still at the motel, that he had been out for a walk or something dumb when he had gone to check.

Michael sighed. He made a gesture with his fist and the flames dimmed a little, giving Dean a little room to breathe. The pain in his stomach lessened too, though he still tasted blood.

“Here,” said the archangel, throwing a phone over the flames.

Dean caught it, turned it right way up, and looked down at the screen. There was a video call in progress and the person on the other end was pointing the camera at something brown and still. Then it moved, and Dean saw a pair of familiar blue eyes.

“Cas! Cas, are you alright?”

“Dean?” said Cas, looking confused until he spied Dean’s pixelated face. He tried to get up, to move closer to whomever was holding the phone, but heavy chains pulled him back.

“Yeah, it’s me,” said Dean, trying to flash a reassuring smile but giving what was more of a grimace. “Don’t worry, I’m coming for you. I’ll get you out of there.”

“No, Dean, it’s not worth it,” said Cas, straining against his chains in an effort to see more clearly. “Don’t say yes, whatever you do, don’t say yes!”

“I think that’s enough,” said Michael, snapping his fingers. The screen went dead.

“You bastard,” said Dean, struggling to his feet.

Michael looked at him, that smug half-smile on his full lips.

“You absolute _bastard_ ,” repeated Dean, shutting his eyes. The fight had gone out of him.

Dean stood still, eyes closed, for a long minute.

“Yes,” he said.


	13. Part 13

Dean opened his eyes and blinked a few times, then groaned for good measure. He felt disoriented, groggy, like he’d been plucked suddenly from a very deep sleep. He tried to sit up, then realised he was already standing.

He rubbed at his face, feeling the rough stubble under his fingers. He was sure he had shaved recently, but things had been a little nuts, so maybe he’d lost a few days here or there. It wasn’t the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

Dean looked around, peering through the dim light at his surroundings. The walls were bare stone, dank and medieval looking, that seemed to flow into a floor and ceiling with barely a break. There didn’t seem to be much to look at…

He blinked.

There was a wooden chair in the corner. A cot with a sheet and blanket. A window with stained glass. Had that been there the whole time? He squinted at the glass and it was like the details were rushing to fill themselves in before he noticed they were missing. Pictures had suddenly always been there, a tableau depicting demons and angels and… his life, in coloured glass.

The house in Lawrence. The lady in white. Bloody mary. Lucifer. Dick Roman. The bunker. Sunlight illuminated them from behind and the whole thing was duplicated on the floor, across Dean’s chest. Mom, Lisa, Bobby, Sam, Cassie, Pamela, Crowley, Dad, Ben, Lillith, Gabriel… Anyone that had ever been a part of Dean’s life was there. Cas had a whole panel, the sunlight spilling out around him, his too-blue eyes faithfully recreated and shining bright.

Dean swallowed.

“It can be overwhelming, I know,” said a voice. It was soft and feminine and full.

Dean turned to face her. The room was smooth white plaster now, dotted here and there with simple wooden picture frames. One held a photo of Sam. One of Dean stood  by the Impala. One of a half naked woman, the identity of which he couldn’t place. He didn’t wonder how they got there. They had always been there.

The girl seemed tall, but when he looked closely she was of medium height and build. Her blonde… brown hair fell to her shoulders. She wore a simple, sky-blue dress. She was ancient and new.

“What is this?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“It’s a waiting room,” she said softly, a placid smile on her pink lips.

“Right, and what are we waiting for exactly?”

“A decision. We thought we had one already, but recent events being what they were…” she shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“No, actually, I don’t. What the hell is going on?”said Dean. He had said it demandingly, but it came out meek and afraid.

“What do you remember?”

* * *

“Yes,” Dean said.

Michael smirked. He took a moment to bask in his victory, watching his vessel closely. Dean was standing still, glaring at him, waiting. He didn’t bother keeping himself safe from the flames and his skin began to blister, his clothes charring away. Angrily, Michael made a fist and the flames blew themselves out.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean. This will be much easier if you learn to work as a team.”

“Screw you,” said Dean.

Michael sighed, but his exasperation did not last for long. He finally had his vessel. His one true vessel, tailored for him throughout the ages. He was going to enjoy this, whether Dean liked it or not.

Michael closed his eyes and opened his mouth, letting the blinding manifestation of his Grace out of its shell, which crumpled to the ground. Dead or worse,  Michael didn’t spare him a thought, so focused was he on Dean. His Grace circled Dean, the light licking at him as if savouring his flavour. As it circled it healed his wounds, and turned the scorched fabric of his flannel shirt and old jeans into a well fitted suit. Then it snaked into his unresisting mouth, and became him.

Dean’s body went suddenly, perfectly still. His eyes were glassy and his jaw slack. He stood like this for ten long minutes, whilst inside was rage and tumult.

* * *

“Don’t say yes!” shouted Cas, straining against his chains in his desperation to see Dean’s face on the screen. His broken arm sent spasms of pain through him, but he ignored them. Dean had to know that nothing was worth this, _he_ wasn’t worth this.

“Whatever you do, don’t say yes!” Cas cried.

The phone went dead and he crumpled to his knees, arms jerked uncomfortably in the air. He knelt like that for a while, enveloped by fear and guilt and pain. His jailor, some underling of Michaels desperate for promotion, walked away in disgust.

When he was sure he was alone, Cas raised his head, looking critically at his surroundings. He was in a small room, not intended as a cell but hastily retrofitted with iron chains and bars across the window. He was on Earth, he assumed, as the pale light of dawn pooled on the dirty floor.

Cas took a closer look at his chains. They were definitely iron, the links thick and strong. They had been bolted to the ceiling… He grinned. They had been bolted to the ceiling with cheap bolts, bolts that were barely deep enough to bite into anything but plaster.

He braced himself, thinking only of Dean, then pulled. He gritted his teeth against the pain but kept going, gratified as the chains shifted a little and he was showered with plaster dust. He grimaced, shoulders straining, broken arm getting increasingly more mangled, continued to pull with all his strength… Until finally, with an almighty clatter, the bolts tore free and the chains fell to the ground.

The sound brought his jailor back, who squinted into the dim room in alarm.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” he said, peering through the small slot.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” replied Cas. He was still breathing heavily and in incredible pain, but he got to his feet in silence.

The angel unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. His jaw dropped as he finally saw what Cas had done, but it was too late. Cas jerked his good arm and the chain that hung from it whipped up and caught the guard across the face, knocking him to the ground. His blade skittered across the floor and Cas seized it, plunging it into the angel’s chest without a second thought.

Cas shielded his eyes as the bright light of death filled the room, then patted down the body in search of keys. Quickly he freed himself from the chains, pocketed the keys, and grasped the blade firmly in his good hand. His face set in grim determination, he marched from his cell.

* * *

Dean stood alone in the middle of the empty warehouse, a circle of scorch marks around him and the ashy remains of his old clothes at his feet. He made a jerky movement with an arm, raising it a few inches before it stopped abruptly.

His foot lifted as if to take a step, his balance shifted, and he tumbled to the ground.

“Stop… Fighting… Me…” Michael said through gritted teeth.

“Never,” Dean spat.

They got to their feet, moving like a toddler, a puppet with half its strings cut.

 _“I am an Archangel. I am God’s favourite son. I am ancient and infinite. You think you, boy, can resist me?”_ said Michael internally. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

 _“Go to hell, asshat,”_ replied Dean. Not so eloquent, perhaps, but it got the point across. He didn’t have the concentration to spare on witty repartee.

Michael roared inside Dean’s head. The force of it hit him, a shockwave like a freight train, and he felt his consciousness waver. Mentally he staggered, forcing himself to stay in control, but he knew he was weakened.

Michael roared again, the full raw power of a celestial being hitting Dean’s tiny human mind from all sides. It was no use. Dean slipped away.

Michael grinned. He flexed his fingers experimentally. He brushed the dust from his suit, adjusted his tie, then disappeared, leaving the warehouse in echoing silence.

* * *

Cas fought his way through a veritable battalion of lesser angels, hacking and slashing and ducking and killing. He was cut and bruised and thrown around like a rag doll but he could barely feel it. In his mind danced visions of Dean, dead or wounded or worse;  controlled by Michael. He couldn’t let that happen, no matter the cost.

He didn’t look at their faces, didn’t let himself feel anything but rage and fear for Dean as their bodies hit the ground. He made it out of the makeshift cell, made it down a long corridor, made it into what looked like a foyer. Was he in an abandoned hotel? It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

Another angel stepped into his path and he flew at it, screaming with fury. His stolen blade plunged towards its heart but it sidestepped him with ease. Cas tried again and once again he missed. The angel laughed and Cas’ blood ran cold at the familiar sound.

“I have to say, I’m impressed with you, Castiel,” said the angel.

No, no no no GOD NO, Cas thought.  He looked up into the face of his attacker.

The freckles were the first thing he noticed. He had always thought of them like skin stars. He forced himself to look past them, up into the deep green eyes he held so dear. They were Dean’s, but he couldn’t see Dean behind them. He sagged.

“M… Michael?”

Michael looked at him with an arrogant, superior expression that looked ugly on Dean’s face.

“It’s too bad,” he said, running a thumb along the edge of his blade. “He was in love with you.”

“He… he loves me?” repeated Cas, disbelievingly. His heart leapt involuntarily, but he pushed it down.

“What’s the matter, Castiel? You didn’t know?” replied Michael, thoroughly enjoying himself. He had never felt so whole, so energised. Castiel’s pain invigorated him. “It’s like a fucking soap opera in here,” he added.

Cas stood up straighter, defiance in his eyes.

“You will lose,” he said firmly. “Dean will see he was wrong and take control.”

Michael’s face twisted in anger. There was a thunderclap and a bolt of lightning as he unfurled his wings and spread his arms, bearing down on Castiel in his ripped and bloody trenchcoat.

“Look at me!” he yelled. “I am the most powerful being in the universe!” Another clap of thunder rolled, as if to emphasise his point. Lightning sent shadows flickering around the foyer as Michael grabbed Castiel by the throat.

“You actually think a dire thing like love will win?” he said, with a low, incredulous chuckle.

“The same thing won’t happen as Sam did with Lucifer,” said the archangel, lifting Castiel into the air. “Not this time.”

“He is strong,” choked out Cas. “You’ve been witness to that.”

Michael let go and Cas dropped unceremoniously to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. He folded his hands behind his back and took a few steps away, like he couldn’t stand to be near his baby brother.

“You’ve been with the humans too long, Castiel. You know how weak they are,” he said, as if daring Cas to contradict him.

“I know everything in this tiny, insignificant brain. Every moment you two shared that he kept locked away. Every touch he tried to forget…”

“Stop it,” choked Cas, struggling to sit up properly.

“Every time you let him down that he just can’t quite let go of…” continued Michael, tauntingly.

“Stop it!” shouted Cas, getting to his feet.

Michael turned back to face Castiel. He smirked, turning his suit into familiar jeans and leather jacket, just because he knew it would hurt.

“He is poison, Castiel, and you know it,” Michael smirked, gratified to see the pain behind Cas’ eyes.

“How does it feel, knowing you were his demise?”

Cas looked away, unable to bear the twisted vision in front of him. He shook his head.

“Lucifer is gone. What’s the point of all this?” He sounded desperate, pleading, tired.

Michael snorted derisively, folding his arms, the fitted suit melting back into existence.

“You don’t know anything, do you? I have my true vessel! Now I can finally do what I was created to do!” he said.

Cas took a step back, shaking his head.

“You’re insane,” he said.

“Not insane,” said Michael, raising a condescending finger. “A strategist.”

The archangel took a step closer, gearing himself up to fight. “Now, any last words?”

Cas glared, hatred rolling off him in waves. “Bite me,” he said. He didn’t move.

Michael stared down at him. Castiel was a mess; one arm hung limply at his side, his clothes were torn and bloody and his face was littered with cuts and bruises. He was pathetic. Michael clenched his fist and Cas collapsed once more.

“I take it back,” he said. “You are not impressive in the least.”

Cas spat blood, but did not make any effort to get up.

“Fight me, Castiel!” yelled Michael, infuriated. “Have you given up? Don’t want to hurt your precious human?” He snorted. “You loved him too much, and now you can’t let him go.”

Michael sighed. Fine.

“Because I am the righteous, I will make it quick,” he said, advancing on Cas.

“Dean…” said Cas, rolling painfully onto all fours. “I know you’re in there. I know I’ve let you down. Please forgive me.”

Michael punched him, sending him crashing to the floor, then pulled him back up by his collar. He raised his angel blade, poised it to plunge into Castiel’s weak heart.

“Dean, please,” gasped Cas. He looked up into the eyes he knew so well, a mere inch from his own.

“I love you.”

Something shifted inside Michael. His heart was thumping fit to burst. He dropped the blade and clutched at his chest, eyes wild.

“This… can’t be happening,” he gasped. Behind his eyes flickered a barrage of memories; every moment that Dean and Cas had spent together, every touch that Dean had cherished and locked away, every time that Dean had let Cas down that he couldn’t quite forget, no matter how many times Cas forgave him…

“No! I don’t understand!” shouted Michael, clutching at his head as the unwanted assault of memories continued. He couldn’t stop them. He was all powerful, why couldn’t he stop them?!

 _It’s because you sons of bitches don’t have what we have,_ said Dean.

“No! I am stronger than Lucifer! You can’t kill me!” yelled Michael.

 _We’ve got family_ , continued Dean. _And that’s what will always make us better than you._

Michael grabbed desperately for his blade, raising it for the last time. He had to stop this. Now.

Cas looked into Dean’s twisted face, his own full of faith and love, willing him to victory.

The blade came down and Cas did not flinch, eyes locked with Dean’s to the last.

Dean gasped as the blade plunged deep into his own stomach. Blue light exploded from his eyes and mouth and he slumped forwards into Cas’ arms.

“Dean!” said Cas. This was not happening. This could not be happening. No. No. No.

As gently as he could Cas lay Dean down beside him. He placed one hand on his stomach and willed it to heal. He gathered everything he had, every trace of his Grace that still lingered in his useless human form, and poured it into Dean.

“Come on, COME ON!”

Dean lay in Cas’ arms, still and lifeless in his well fitting suit.

“I don’t understand,” said Cas, cupping Dean’s face as gently as he could, as if he could break him more. He let out a loud, dry sob and clutched Dean close in his arms.

“Bring him back, you son of a bitch!” he yelled to the rafters. “You brought me back!”

“Dean!” he said desperately, as if sheer force of love and will could make this not have happened. He placed a soft, clumsy kiss on Dean’s still-warm lips.

“...Dean?”

The silence was deafening.

* * *

_“What do you remember?”_

Dean shook his head to try and clear it. He rubbed his face, then looked down in confusion at his wet fingers. When had he started crying?

“It can be overwhelming, I know,” the girl said again. It didn’t really help. His heart was too heavy.

There was a gentle knock at the door and the girl answered it.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, and stepped outside. As the door closed the edges dissolved until there was nothing but bare wall. It had always been bare wall.

Dean turned around, not really sure what to do with himself. He examined the pictures on the walls, recognising them as stills of the memories he had used against Michael. A small smile pulled at his lips. At least he had won. Cas was alive and he had won. Cas loved him and he had won.

“Are you ready to go?” asked the girl.

Dean turned around. She had her hand stretched out to him and he took it. She led him out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lady on Tumblr called linneart and about a year ago (I know) she drew the comic that inspired this fanfic. You can read it here. http://linneart.tumblr.com/post/83944591326
> 
> I didn't necessarily plan for the fic to turn out this way but I'm glad it did. Thank you Linnea for inspiring me to write and for sharing your art with all of us.
> 
> Thank you all for supporting me, it means a lot.
> 
> This may not necessarily be the end...


End file.
